


Pieces of You

by Anoriell



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Book & movie spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriell/pseuds/Anoriell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of war, picking up the pieces is never easy. Especially finding oneself amidst the maelstrom of emotions following the loss of a loved one. How is Bilbo coping?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eowyn (eowynsmusings)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eowynsmusings/gifts).



> Bonne fête, ma chère !!!

Gandalf was right. I have come back and I am most certainly not the same. The Shire feels different now, even though it remains unchanged.

It is I who has changed.

The journey to reclaim Erebor was more than a walk across leagues of stunning vistas and unimaginable peril. Ultimately, for this hobbit, it was a journey of the heart. It was a life-changing expedition that opened my eyes to wonders beyond what can be perceived by sight alone. My time spent with the dwarves allowed me to recognize true heroes, build lasting friendships and discover my own worth. Gandalf believed in me from the very start. Again, it would appear that he had the right of it. I should have believed in me as well. It took me long enough to come around to it. But before the end, they all had. Even their King. Too much so, perhaps. Betrayal is an ugly piece of business.

Then again, so is banishment. Just as damaging, I’ll wager.

Hobbiton is lovely this time of year, ripe Afterlithe blossoms a striking contrast against the rolling green hills. Today, the sun sparkles across the usually mirrored waters as the children run around the Party Tree field trying to fly their kites despite the lack of proper wind. There is laughter and cheer aplenty as they navigate their tethered aircrafts, bold creations fashioned out of cloth and sticks decorating the sky with splashes of color. Some are even fitted with whistles to the utmost delight of the wee ones. I watch the spectacle with envy, wishing I could be one of the toys floating on the breeze.

Wouldst that my own spirit could soar so high, so free.

Where are you, Thorin? Do you yet linger in the Halls of Waiting, accompanying your forefathers? Or has it proven true that your kind returns to the very stone from which they were created?

There is a trunk back home, in Bag End. It is an old thing, a keepsake from my great-grandfather Balbo. Or perhaps it is more of a relic considering that it has survived the passage of time such as it is, Balbo being the original patriarch of the Baggins Family. Within its confines are hidden all traces of our time together. Of our adventure throughout Middle-Earth. I cannot bear the sight of Sting, the memories of its use in defending you as you lay damaged and helpless still too painful. The mithril shirt only serves to remind me of the pride you felt when you gave it to me – such a masterful piece of dwarven artisanship. And then there is my old corduroy jacket with its frayed edges, numerous holes and occasional tears … each mark serving as a time-stamp, telling the story of ‘us’ and how we came to be more than just an exiled King and his company’s burglar. I kept it, hoping to someday mend it. I always did like that color on me. But I cannot. Not now. Not after …

Probably not ever.

Where are you, friend? Wherever it may be, I do wonder - do you still keep me in your thoughts? As I keep you in mine?

I remain unable to rid myself of your presence no matter what I do. I am not entirely certain that it is my wish, even, despite the pain being greater than the comfort to be found in memories of you. Ever since that evening when you showed up at my doorstep and claimed to have lost your way twice before openly mocking me in front of your company. In point of fact, the term 'grocer' might have been a kindness considering the truth that was to be revealed soon after. As it turns out, I was no more than a coward. A lost coward. I cannot exactly say if it was because of the passion that I glimpsed burning deep within you when you spoke of Erebor or if the blame was to be laid upon the invisible blanket of loneliness that clung to you like a second skin. Perhaps it was the unnamed emotion that gave both strength and softness to your voice as you sang about wind and fire, and of dungeons and gold? Either way, I can now admit to myself that I knew then, as I listened from the (false) safety of my bedroom, that already I was changed. Because of you. As such, against my own fears and better judgment (at the time), my journey had begun even before I signed that accursed contract. And now, in this empty hobbit hole of mine, there lingers a shadow. A constant reminder of that night. The one and only time you ever visited my home yet somehow carved yourself a place within it. For here lives an echo of the dwarf that set out to reclaim his mountain for his people. An echo of a King that took up arms time and again to defend those he cared about along with everything that he ever believed in.

Here, in Bag End, I can still hear your echo and too often I find myself searching for you.

Where are you, beloved?

I am nothing without you. Naught but a withering phantom of my former self. Much like the flower that struggles to survive without rain or sunshine, how am I to carry on without the light from your smile and the love in your eyes? You gave me a taste of what could be. I now mourn what could have been.

Even so. I would not change anything if it meant never having known you. Never having been touched by you. If the wonders of the world are to be found scattered across the land, revered by some and kept secret by others, it matters little to me. I found my own (wonder) in the smooth curve of your neck, your heartbeat whispering against my lips as I breathed the essence of you, having finally found a place where I truly belonged.

Where am I, Thorin?

Adrift amongst the scattered pieces of you - each one a puzzle fragment from my shattered heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry no happy ending. Think of it this way ... it could be part of your 'Then and Now' verse. Before Bilbo sails West.
> 
> So this is part 1 of ? of your birthday gift. I ran out of time and focus what with JF's accident and all. I hope you don't mind a bit of a delay for the rest?
> 
> Wishing you all the best on this special day.
> 
> Love, hugs and schtuff.
> 
> J&K


End file.
